Dare to Dream
by Evilkitten3
Summary: He doesn't sleep. He hasn't closed his eyes in centuries. He's afraid of what he might see if he does. A different look on the relationship between the boy who isn't a boy and the parents who aren't parents.


**Summary**: He doesn't sleep. He hasn't closed his eyes in centuries. He's afraid of what he might see if he does. A different look on the relationship between a boy and his parents.

He's been watching them again, those perfect little golden-haired boys, with their perfect mother and their perfect next-door neighbor and her perfect grandmother and their goddamn perfect dog. _She_ thinks that he's being masochistic, that he's torturing himself with the images of their happiness. He ignores _her_, blocks _her_ out, because he hates admitting that _she's_ right about him. He hates pain, but he keeps going back, keeps watching those golden-haired boys laughing and playing and crying and screaming and feeling all of the things that he's not allowed to feel anymore. He's angry, and he tells himself that he hates them. Maybe he really does hate them, but he isn't sure. He hasn't been sure about anything for a while. He does remember his name though, and he's proud of that, and he remembers the name of the little girl he played with once, so many years ago. He remembers the smell of grass and the taste of chocolate and the sight of home and the sound of Mother calling him in for dinner and the feel of Father hugging him. But he can't have those things, not anymore. The smell of grass isn't there anymore, or, if it is, he can't smell it. Chocolate tastes the same as every other human food – tastes the same as everything except the Red Stones, actually. There is no place he can call home, because even if he does go back to that place, while he knows it will most likely be an empty ruin, he's afraid that it might not be, that his home might not belong to him anymore. Mother doesn't call him in for dinner anymore either, because he doesn't need it, and _she_ doesn't care (he's not _her_ son anymore, _she _says, and _she's_ not his Mother). Father doesn't hug him anymore either. He hasn't seen Father in years, and it makes him angry, watching Father hugging those golden-haired brats. And then Father disappeared, leaving those brats alone. He was excited about that; he wanted to see them cry, They don't even seem to care. He knows that Father gave up everything for those two, left them with a mother who cared, and they still don't acknowledge that. He's angry, and he yells at Not-Mother, who says that they do it to spite him. He knows _she's_ lying, but he believes _her_ anyways. He's scared of what will happen if he stops believing. Even if Not-Mother doesn't care, he can pretend that _she_ does, and it's enough for him to stay, to help keep _her_ alive, to kill for _her_. He helps make the Philosopher's Stone, and _she_ stays with him, alive, so that at least one person won't forget. He knows _she's_ using him, but he doesn't care. He's far too desperate, far too scared of loneliness.

It doesn't last, though, and he knew it wouldn't. The others are all dead – Sloth and Greed killed by Edward, Gluttony by Al, Pride by Mustang, Lust by Scar, and Wrath by his own hand, after his mother died. And then they come for Mother, and he knows they've lost. It's Edward who comes for them, with Father (HIS Father, not Ed's) and his little brother, and their military friends. He doesn't come out, not at first. He hides, afraid. He's angry at Father, wants to kill him, but he doesn't want to die. It only takes him a minute to realize that, as much as he wants to live, he wants Mother to live more. He comes out, he fights, he tries to protect _her_, but he isn't a god. _She_ is killed, eventually, by Father. It's the first time in years – the first time since Father left – that he's felt so lost. He doesn't know what to do. _She's_ always told him. The woman with the gun tells him to surrender. She says he's the only one left, and resisting would be pointless. He doesn't hear her. He falls to his knees, staring at Mother. Vaguely, he hears someone saying something about shock, and his concentration over his disguise fades. He hears more than a couple yells as his body shrinks down to the size of a child, and then there's a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Father tells him. "I'm sorry." The tears come, and he thinks it's the first time he's cried since Father left. Father holds him, and, just for a second, he remembers the feeling. Then the alchemically-made knife slides through his ribs, and he crumples. "I'm sorry," says Father. "I'm so sorry." Even as he lies on the ground, blood pooling beneath him, he reaches for _her_.

"Ma...ma..."

**AN: Well, that was depressing. The next chapter of MLMMCNTFSIWBS is on its way, so I wrote a little something extra to entertain you until then. This will be a trilogy of one-shots. The next will be from Ed's point of view, and the one after that will be from either Dante or Riza.**


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